GROUNDHOG DAY: Murray-ly We Roll Along
Romantic comedies do not exist,
But Groundhog Day reminds us why they’re missed.
If not atop the comic romance list,
It’s really, really, really close on this.
Romantic comedies do not exist,
But Groundhog Day reminds us why they’re missed.
If not atop the comic romance list,
It’s really, really, really close on this.
When a gray-bearded mogul finds fiscal success
And pursues all his craziest larks,
Never heeding the specter of unchecked excess,
You get…sequels to dinosaur parks.
Now, that mogul, his beard, and his studio troupe,
Not content with achievements colossal,
Take the series and, in one fell misguided swoop,
Drive it into the ground like a fossil.
Chris Nolan is your brilliant, vexing friend,
Whose loops of plot necessitate replays
(A truth on which this premise drolly plays:
The end is the beginning is the end).
Here’s a series that’s always been slurping its gruel
From the puddles of film’s perfect storm,
But five movies removed, can these fossils still fuel
Any moment that’s moving or warm?
Take the MCU’s biggest big-talker,
Put him next to the screen’s chillest dude,
Put that demigod trickster in handcuffs,
And a great conversation ensued.
But the coaster we all thought we’d boarded—
“The Odd Couple fight temporal crime”—
Takes a turn toward conspiracy-romance
And makes god-awful use of our time.
This Marvel film’s the least fun they’ve supplied us,
A rare bronze from the action-comic Midas,
And coming as it does, last to the party,
It can’t but feel inadequate and tardy.
The better ones took decade-long advantage
Of friendships prior screenwriters had brandished,
But after twenty films with Nat, they falter
And leave this Widow at the super-altar.
Tomorrow War takes a big swing at the Nineties
(Even non-remakes now have a case of behindies),
And it snags a foul tip, one the catcher’s still bobblin’.
Like that other big fireworks flick with space goblins,
It swoops in on 4th of July to compel us,
But you won’t find much here to make Bill Pullman jealous.
To make some noise could get you killed
When earth with sharp-eared beasts is filled.
Here’s two fresh, taciturn, tense hours
Of landscapes bare and prospects dour.
A Quiet Place’s world’s been thieved
By bugs who hunt what ears perceive,
But it’s bone-deep humanity
The film explores most trenchantly.
Shoulders full of vaccines, we march back to big screens, and what better pied pipes to have brung us
Than the riotous roar of a nucleosaur and the snarl of a Monkus humongous?
If you crave beasts of size and your filmgoing eye’s not especially CG-cartoon-averse,
Put a curl on your lip and take one final(?) trip through this third-worst-run Hollywood universe.